


Don't Put Your Faith in a Man You Can't Trust

by Verabird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Bathing, Bondage, Chabouillet I'm sorry for making you a plot device I love you and I'll make up for it I promise, Coming Untouched, Gags, Hair Kink, Hallucinations, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Medical Kink, Muzzles, Ruined Orgasms, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: Valjean's purpose in life has dwindled and so he takes up a charitable position volunteering in a hospital. It is here that he finds Javert, a little more worse for wear than when he last saw him, institutionalised by his benefactor in response to his actions on the Pont au Change. It is also here that Valjean chooses to spare Javert the humiliation of having various innovative treatments performed on him by strangers by undertaking to perform them himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firestorm717](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firestorm717/gifts).



It was hot, unbearably so, yet in the room there were no windows, no breeze to respite the hellish heat that seemed to encompass Javert’s entire body. Of course there was a door, a single wooden barrier to the outside world, reinforced with steel and locks, the panel that could reveal a small window for looking in had remained slammed shut for what felt like days.

It was not only the heat that was unbearable. It was the confinement too. The fact that Javert couldn’t stretch out or shift the blankets that covered him even if he tried. The straps were thick and sturdy, heavy duty leather that restrained his wrists and ankles to the wrought iron bedstead. Another of these straps held him down by the chest, and yet another round his waist. They buckled as belts did, there were no locks, but Javert’s hands were useless to undo them. There would be no relief from that damned heat that smothered his face like cotton wool and made him feel as if he were in a furnace.

“ _It is for your own good you know.”_

He’d believed the words at the time for he’d never heard that voice to lie, yet now he cursed his complicit nature when he willingly and calmly entered this room. Perhaps he would never leave. It was not the inability to leave the room physically that irked Javert so much, it was the fact that he was still kept in a painful purgatory. Every minute was a reminder that life still crept through his veins, that his lungs still worked despite the water that had been pumped out of them, that in spite of his fractured ribs and abrasions he had survived his jump into the Seine and so was cursed to live.

The straps that held him down had not come until the second day. It had taken Javert much of the first day and the following night to find implements worthy of the task. A noose of bedsheets had proven useless for there was nowhere to hang them from and the ceiling too low anyhow, but after several hours of careful sharpening of one of the bolts that ran through the bed post he was sure he had a tool sharp enough to make the deed fairly quick.

Such an effort had been stopped almost immediately. It was then that he realised he was being constantly monitored via that small rectangle in the door that sometimes shone light past the bars and sometimes remained closed as it did now. It had taken several men to subdue him, three pairs of sturdy hands and a damp cloth pressed to his face, and then he had woken up in a position of vulnerability as he was now. The straps were fairly comfortable, designed to take his struggles, but they might as well have chained him up like an animal.

Javert was a stoical man. Even as he pressed the metal bolt to his neck he had felt calm, sure that his course of action was not only just, but true. The nameless men who came every few hours to see to his needs had taken that from him. He would not cry out for help, would not let a sob escape his lips, not even when he heard that voice again beyond the door.

_“He has always seemed in order to me, undisturbed in his mind and in his duties. It was a shock to all of us as you can understand. Given my investment I am particularly disappointed in this news, of course I trust your judgements as I am not a medical man myself, but could this not have been avoided? So soon after I entrusted him to your care.”_

_“Monsieur, one can never know what these men will do. They are not sound of mind as you have seen. You will see noticeable improvements in the coming months.”_

_“Very well. I will request weekly reports and shall make a visit monthly.”_

_“Yes Monsieur, I will see to it that Doctor Massé is informed. Another request he bid me make of you Monsieur, it is a delicate matter, he wishes to know if you consent to certain methods.”_

_“I signed a release did I not?”_

_“Indeed Monsieur, but your description of his character and the doctor’s initial assessment were not sufficient as evidenced by his recent actions. He is a strong man, capable of force and there is a potential for injury. Doctor Massé wishes to know if it would be permissible to use the following methods, there are diagrams that will be informative to you in his study I will show you there now.”_

The voices died away before Javert could know what those methods were. He was certain he would find out in the coming days regardless. He had considered calling out, but the words had died on his throat before they could manifest themselves on his tongue. _Disappointed,_ was the word he had used, and Javert felt thoroughly ashamed to have disappointed him in this manner.

It would be better now for him to die, better for everyone concerned, if he could only complete what he had started on the bridge the night of the barricades then order would be restored. He was willing to bide his time, but he would ensure his task was completed soon enough.

* * *

 

He woke again in the middle of the night, the heat still oppressive against his face. There was a sound at the door like the scratching of mice and Javert kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore it. Every twitch in his body, every slight itch, felt like a creature running over him, and perhaps it was.

He closed his eyes again and when he opened them he was certain time had passed, for he looked up and saw the face of a man sitting on his bed. The face was dark and in shadow, but the whites of his eyes were visible by the light of the moon. The pupils looked black, the irises dark, and the sight of this demonic creature frightened Javert.

He blinked hard, and sure enough when he opened them again the creature was gone. He breathed deeply, cursing his mind, cursing the strange concoctions the doctors forced into his system. He was sure his mind was not so far gone and that surely it was the fault of the liquid poured on cloth and held to his nose that conjured up such visions.

He blinked again, and back again was that demon, it’s face was closer to Javert’s now and Javert could see those unnatural black eyes. The creature reached out a hand and caressed his face, the palm was creased with lines and the sensation on his cheek was that of a labourer’s hand. As the creature leaned in Javert saw the flash of its face, and he was certain, although he had known in the back of his mind before, the creature tormenting him was Valjean.

Valjean placed a hand on Javert’s thigh, reached for the coarse trousers of the clothes the doctors had given him. They pulled down until Javert was exposed completely for this possessed Valjean. Valjean’s eyes ran over him and then they gripped his cock with such a sudden harshness that Javert yelped in pain.

Surely this could be no vision if he felt it, the sensation was like hellfire and twice as painful, it brought tears to Javert’s eyes. Valjean pulled and tugged and Javert wrestled with his restraints. Leather dug into his wrists and ankles as he struggled in vain, using all his strength and might, but it was no use. Valjean was coaxing hardness from him and Javert could not look away from those black eyes that shone in the slim rays of moonlight. He opened his mouth to scream, but found his voice taken from him.

Valjean stroked him faster, tugging painfully on his cock, his other hand still touching Javert’s face. Javert thought that this intimate touch against his cheek was more painful. He whimpered loudly in the dark, finding enough voice for this pitiful moan, and then he felt an orgasm rip through him, wrung cruelly from him by that devilishly hot hand. The creature possessing Valjean smiled, white teeth bared, and Javert scrunched his eyes shut against the sight. He breathed heavily for a few moments, waiting until the touches against his face and cock were gone, then he opened his eyes.

He could feel the wetness on his thighs and crotch and knew the reality of what had happened, but his trousers were still on, snug around his waistband, and there was no sign of any demon or creature or man.

Javert breathed heavily for a few moments. He desperately wanted to clean away the mess he had made, the mess Valjean had cursed him with, knowing that a doctor would find him like this in the morning. He pulled futilely on the restraints, finding no give, seeing only painful lines of red from the friction. There was nothing to do but wait until morning when he would be found and cleaned, likely while still bound. He would sob for his dignity if he cared much for his life.

* * *

 

“How many children?”

“Our aim is to keep the number below thirty, but occasionally we take more.”

Valjean nodded as the orderly continued to walk him down the corridor of the hospital. He tried to ignore the bars on the window and the darkened shadows that lingered in the corners.

It had been Cosette’s idea. Not content with seeing him fade away she had decided he should return to charity work, for volunteering in this way seemed to keep him alive. The hospital would allow an old man like him help out where he could, and this particular hospital was desperate for any staff at all.

“They fear the illnesses are contagious, Monsieur.”

“Surely such ailments cannot be caught.”

“You are right, but we cannot help what the people think. Malloi’s articles are helping to change that although some of the doctor’s methods cause suspicion.”

Valjean nodded along, not truly understanding. He would be content to read a novel at a bedside or fluff a pillow, as long as he were useful he would be satisfied to live on this earth a little longer.

“It is out adult wards that need the most assistance, especially the private ones, if you would--”

The orderly was interrupted by a second man running towards them in the corridor, his hospital coat was splattered with stains that Valjean was careful not to look at too long. He grabbed his fellow orderly by the shoulder and muttered a few words out of earshot, then turned to Valjean.

“Monsieur, if you would excuse us for a moment, nothing to worry about we just need an extra pair of hands. You’re welcome to wait in the foyer.”

Valjean nodded quickly as the man looked as if he were in a rush to get away. It seemed as if the problem was in fact something to worry about after all. It was a good fortune for Valjean that this unknown problem had occurred, for it was in getting lost in his walk to the foyer that he made the discovery.

He had been wandering for several minutes when the window caught his eye. He wasn’t sure what had caused him to stop, although he would reflect later that he was glad he did. The window was small, just at eye level, and fitted with steel bars. Valjean made towards it, carefully glancing over his shoulder although he was sure he was allowed to be here. The room was dark, but enough light managed to squeeze through the bars that the contents were visible. A small chair and table, a low standing bed, and on the bed; a man.

Valjean took a step back from the window and attempted to process what he had seen. He had not seen Javert in weeks, not since the man had told him he would wait for him beneath a glowing streetlamp and then when Valjean had gone back out into the street the Inspector had disappeared. Thoughts of where he had disappeared to had crossed his mind, but he had dismissed most of them, assuming that Javert had accepted a life for a life and had gone back to his work at the Prefecture.

He had assumed wrong, for here Javert lay, in a Parisian hospital, his ankles and wrists bound to a bed frame with sturdy leather straps, his hair wild and untamed and his face unshaven. He looked something akin to a wild animal, but still recognisable. An initial shock was seeing such a usually upright man appear to him lying down. Valjean returned to the window having regained some composure and looked again. He could not take his eyes away from the sight, and as one senses the gaze of another upon them so did Javert glance up to the window. Valjean held that gaze for all of a few seconds before jumping back as if he’d been burned.

There was a pause, seconds of painful silence, and then Valjean could hear Javert start to shout from behind the door. It was a pitiful sound, the howls of a despairing animal, and as Javert called his name Valjean was almost tempted to answer it, if only to calm those desperate cries. Instead he did nothing, rooted to the spot in cowardice until two men came running down the corridor. They paid him little heed as he stepped back to make way for them. One of them produced a key and unlocked a door, the other held a bottle of clear liquid and a wad of cotton.

Valjean watched in stunned silence as one asked with the utmost politeness for Javert to calm down, and when he did not, held his head still so that the other could cover his mouth and nose with the cloth. A few moments of struggling later and Javert fell limp. Valjean felt sick to his core as he watched proceedings. He had spent a lifetime fearing this man, wishing him gone from his life, but similarly he had known him and known him well. They had spent long hours together in Montrueil sur Mer, and Valjean could think of no one else who had known him as long. The real Fauchelevent had passed, but even so, Javert had known him before even then. No, it was this man on the bed who had chased Valjean through life and despite knowing what Javert could bring about if in control of his senses Valjean still felt a sense of disgust at seeing him brought low.

Once Javert was placed into a state of unconsciousness, the two men emerged from the room, one pocketing the cloth and bottle. One head off at a quick pace down the corridor, the other turned to Valjean.

“I am sorry you had to witness that, Monsieur.”

Valjean swiftly regained his voice. “It is no trouble.”

“I am Doctor Massé,” The man said, extending his hand, and Valjean took it. “Please forgive me, but who are you? Which patient are you visiting?”

“None. I am Monsieur Fauchelevent, and I have come to help.”

* * *

 

A week passed. Valjean helped carry things, he spoke to patients, he washed cloths and prepared various doses, and his easygoing nature made the hospital staff consider him a blessing to be around. Valjean avoided Javert’s room as much as possible, but occasionally he was drawn to it. He watched as Javert struggled against most of the doctor’s treatments and protested violently at the slightest sign of medicine.

On the seventh day he stood outside Javert’s room as Doctor Massé went inside with a leather bag under his arm.

“Good morning Monsieur Javert, how are you feeling today?” He said cheerily in a voice that carried outside into the corridor. Such a cheerful greeting did not seem to sit well with Javert, for within a few minutes the room was full of orderlies attempting to calm a thrashing Javert who was spitting venom at all of them. After a few moments, silence reigned again, and Doctor Massé ordered the room to be cleared.

Valjean remained in the corridor until everyone had returned to their business and then moved to stand in the doorway. Doctor Massé was arranging equipment on the table, Valjean recognised a straight razor and brush, while Javert was sitting in the chair opposite. Sitting was a kind word for it. Straps passed around his wrists and the arms of the chair, and his ankles were fastened to the legs. Straps crossed his body at his chest and shoulders, but what Valjean found most disconcerting was the strap across his mouth that held a leather panel in place effectively muzzling him.

“What happened?”

Javert and Doctor Massé’s eyes slid towards him in one motion. Valjean noticed Javert’s entire body physically tense and he was certain his teeth had clenched behind the gag.

“He has teeth this one,” Massé said with an unaffected smile. “However, we’re prepared for biters, as you can see.”

He gestured vaguely to Javert’s face then returned to setting his equipment out. Valjean’s eyes flicked between the two other men in the room. “What do you intend to do now?”

“Nothing particularly medically advanced. Our Monsieur Javert is sorely in need of a shave, I intend to give him one.” Massé lifted the razor and inspected the blade.

“Doctor, I would ask a request of you.”

Valjean glanced with trepidation between the razor in the doctor’s hand and the fierce look in Javert’s eyes. The doctor had taken a leather strip from the kit and had begun to sharpen his razor against it before he prepared the various salves and oils.

“Ask away.”

“If it is not too much trouble, may I…that is to say, might I be allowed to relieve you from this duty?”

Javert’s eyebrows shot up so fast Valjean was startled to see the movement. His eyes seemed to open even wider and his expression turned from anger to fear in an instant. Valjean watched this change with confusion, then saw the way Javert looked at the razor and then back to him. It was clear the man thought he was about to take the opportunity to slit his throat. Valjean sighed. He could not relieve this misconception on Javert’s part with his words now and so his following actions would have to do.

“What are you talking about?” The doctor asked, his hands finding a brush within the confines of the kit.

“I am sure there are many patients requiring your assistance that would be better off under your care than Monsieur Javert would be at this present time. I am not inexperienced, I consider it my charitable duty as the benefactor of this sanitarium.”

The doctor laughed then shrugged and gestured to the kit. “He’s all yours.”

Javert struggled anew, knowing by now it was futile, but this scene had awoken in him feelings of remembrance of a night from long ago. Valjean looked back at him again, trying to calm him with his eyes. _You know me Javert, please, you know what I did before, why would you think I would harm you now?_

But sadly Valjean was not gifted in the supernatural and so telepathy gave Javert no comfort. He took the shaving kit from the doctor and holstered the leather strap, taking hold of the razor in his other hand.

“You are very kind doctor.”

“You’re a funny fellow Fauchelevent. I can’t say I don’t mind your presence around here, you offer an enlightening experience. Take care, it shouldn’t be too difficult or dangerous as long as you don’t remove the restraints, not that you could of course they are securely locked. However, the muzzle provides a challenge, work around it if you can.”

Valjean had no intention of doing any such thing, he was ready to remove that muzzle as soon as the doctor left the room. He nodded politely as the doctor took his leave, then turned to Javert. The first thing Valjean did was to put the razor back in the kit, removing the blade from the situation. He moved behind Javert and felt along the criss-crossed leather straps that held the panel covering his mouth in place, then gently tugged at the buckle until it came loose in his hand. He cast it aside with an expression of disgust then moved in front of Javert once more.

Javert was working his jaw loose of the strain, but as soon as Valjean came back into his vision he pressed his lips together. The fear in his eyes had not vanished entirely, and they darted occasionally to where the razor had disappeared into the holster.

“Javert, I-...” Valjean didn’t know what to say. He was rendered speechless by the absurdity of the situation, it provided a difficulty he thought he’d never have to face. He knelt down in front of Javert’s chair, placing himself lower than the man, hoping that he would inspire feelings of safety. “How are you feeling?”

Javert watched him warily with his mouth pressed shut in a stubborn line before looking away and staring pointedly at the wall in front of him.

“I would be grateful if you would talk to me,” Valjean tried, his voice soft. “You may think this set of circumstances is convenient in some way for me, but please believe me when I say, I would never wish this upon you.”

Javert didn’t even blink as his eyes rested on the grey stone before him. Valjean placed a palm on Javert’s knee for a moment, but this was quickly shoved off with a sharp jerk of Javert’s leg. Valjean sighed and stood, taking the razor out again. Javert reacted instantly, but he could move little in the restraints and so his futile struggles only served to underline his vulnerability.

Valjean ignored this as he smoothed Javert’s tangled long hair away from his face, dragging his fingers as carefully as he could until his face was bare of loose strands. Javert’s breathing quickened at this action, Valjean could see the change in the rise and fall of Javert’s chest, still he tried not to be deterred. He dipped the brush in the jar of cream and took a breath before smoothing it over Javert’s jaw. It was an action his hands were not used to from this angle and he made something of a mess of it before he gained a little more control of his wrist.

Javert had given up his struggles and was staring at the wall with far more resignation than before. His eyes were still wide, but less bright, and Valjean saw his mouth tremble slightly. Valjean took the razor delicately in his hand and tilted it beneath Javert’s chin, resting it gently against his neck. He saw Javert take a breath and hold it, his eyes squeezing shut, his body tense and every muscle clenched. Even now Valjean realised that Javert fully expected him to kill him.

Perhaps he should. If he slit his throat in this moment he could be rid of the hospital in a matter of minutes, it would be a while before they found the body, and once they put two and two together he could be free of the city gates. He could find an abandoned cottage on the outskirts of the city in which to die alone, and the peace he sought would finally be granted to him.

Instead he made a slow and deliberate swipe with the blade, gliding it over skin across Javert’s neck and over his jaw. He wiped the cream and hair on the cloth and set to work on a second strip. Javert had let out the breath he was holding, his brow was furrowed, and he licked lips that were surely cracked and dry.

“I have no intention of killing you,” Valjean said to fill the silence and answer the question he was sure Javert wished to answer. “Even when you wished it upon me, I could never bring myself to desire it in return.”

Valjean brought the razor up to a place a few inches beneath Javert’s ear and set to work slicing a straight line. By eye he could remember where the Inspector’s whiskers fell and he was glad to give them back to him. Over the past few weeks he had grown such an unkempt appearance that it was hard to tell where the man began and the wolf ended.

“I have considered it, but only in the abstract, only to question what the consequences would be. I never truly wished it. Honestly Javert, I want to help you. I could see you expected me to slit your throat as soon as we were alone, but in truth, I just wanted to spare you the humiliation of-”

“Ha! That’s rich!”

Javert’s voice was a loud a bark as ever, but it had lost the expressive timbre it once had. His voice was now hoarse and scratchy, it sounded weak and thin, starved of life. Valjean paused for a moment, watching as Javert instantly pressed his lips together again.

“Thank you,” Valjean said after a long while.

“For what?”

“For talking to me.”

Javert swallowed. “It is hardly a conversation, and you cannot expect me to keep it up, my throat is as dry as a bone.”

Valjean could hear the truth in these words. Truly, Javert’s voice was transformed in such an alarming manner. He glanced around the small cell until he spotted the pewter jug that rested on the table in the corner. He lay down his tools and went to fetch it, looking for a mug. There was none, and so he brought the jug in full back to Javert.

His hand snaked round the back of Javert’s neck and rested there as he brought the jug to Javert’s lips. Javert jerked his head out of Valjean’s light grasp, causing Valjean to step back and spill a good portion of the water.

“Easy!” Valjean was startled for a moment, then he quickly regained his composure. “You must let me help you or you’ll just spill it.”

“Being treated like a child disagrees with me.”

“I am trying my best to treat you like a man rather than the animal they have made you become.”

Javert’s eyes flashed a warning glance at him and Valjean relented. “You cannot use your hands,” He said finally, keeping his voice as low and soft as possible. “Being stubborn does not help your cause.”

Javert licked his lips again and his need for water won out. He nodded, a brief incline of his head, and begrudgingly allowed Valjean’s hand to cradle the back of his neck as he drank. Valjean let him gulp down several mouthfuls before he pulled back.

Javert laughed sharply. “It is as I thought. You only mean to goad me.”

“Your head is filled with nonsense. You must pace yourself otherwise it will all come back up again and you will be back at square one and still just as thirsty. Believe me, I wish to help you.”

“If you truly wished to help me you would help me be rid of this place. No, Jean Valjean, I see right through you, keeping me in here suits you. You can make your benevolent visits and laugh at me, locked in here I can do you no harm and yet I also make fine entertainment, in your eyes my humiliation is complete.”

Valjean breathed a sigh of frustration, his hands moving up in an exasperated gesture. “I am attempting to spare you that humiliation.”

“Of course, of course, how could I be so blind to that? Being shaved by the hand of a convict, Jean Valjean thinks that is a most excellent way to protect me from humiliation, letting the man I hunted bring his knife to my neck, ah yes of course, I have been foolish, that is true respect.”

Valjean brought the jug to Javert’s lips again and Javert drank despite his protests. He felt weak without nourishment and desperate for the bitter tasting liquid that spilled over his tongue. Valjean let him drink more this time.

“I do not care if this pains you,” Valjean said, setting the jug down again. “The fact is you need it. The least I can do is help keep you looking respectable. They will be far more lenient with you if you look like a man and not a beast, believe me, I have experience with both.”

“Ah yes! Kind Jean Valjean! He comes to help me, he comes to spare me humiliation and pain, he comes to look at me through the bars of my cage like the bourgeois at the circus, and it is because he _cares._ ”

Valjean took the razor back in his hand and set to work finishing what he had started. He did not question Javert further as he finished one side, then moved to the other to complete the task.

“It would be better if you killed me. I wanted it that night, I have not changed my mind, I want it still.”

“Stop talking or I might accidentally cut you.”

“First he wants me to speak to him, then he doesn’t want me to speak at all. What else should I expect from the convict turned aristocrat? This man of two faces also has two minds.”

Valjean paused, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rested his hands on Javert’s shoulders. “For just a few minutes would you please just stop talking.”

Javert’s mouth hung open, but then he decided that speaking to Valjean was ultimately not as enjoyable as not speaking to him. So he closed his mouth and sat in silence as Valjean finished shaving him.

“There,” Valjean pronounced. “You look better already.”

“I could tell them you know.”

“Tell them what?”

“That you’re an escaped convict. A parole breaker.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Do you think they would believe me?” Javert tilted his head and stared at Valjean, his eyes bright and accusatory. He gestured weakly with his hands, as much as he could with his wrists bound.

Valjean moved back to the table and searched within the leather bag that rested there. Finally he pulled out a bottle of scented oil and a fine tooth comb. Javert eyed him warily.

“I would rather you didn’t,” He said eventually, closing his eyes once more as Valjean stood behind him again. “I feel as if you are mocking me.”

Valjean began to card his fingers through Javert’s hair, pulling loose the worst of the knots before running the comb through. “I am not mocking you.”

He poured a generous amount of oil into his palm and gently worked it through Javert’s hair, patiently tugging the comb until the strands were free of tangles. Then using just his fingers he pulled Javert’s hair together at the base of his neck and pulled the ribbon provided into a tight knot. The ribbon was short enough that it could not be wrapped around a man’s neck, and so it could not be formed into a bow, but Javert would not be able to see or feel this anyway and so Valjean seemed content with a knot.

Valjean moved round to face Javert again and inspected his image. His hair was neater and his jaw clean shaven, but his face was still dirty. Valjean sighed and picked up the cloth, dipping it into the water until a decent amount was soaked into the material.

“Don’t,” Javert protested meekly, fully aware of Valjean’s intentions.

“I’m sorry,” Valjean said simply before wiping the cloth over Javert’s cheeks and forehead, cleaning away the worst of the muck. “I really do want to help you.”

“Why? If I am free of this place I will have the capacity to arrest you. If I rot in here it would be good for you.”

“I wish for no man to rot anywhere. You being here is a miscarriage of justice and I will fix it as best I can, no sane man should be kept in this place.”

“What makes you think I’m sane?”

Valjean rubbed the cloth into Javert’s cheek again, pursuing a stubborn black mark. “You cannot make me rise to such questions. Now, who put you in here?”

“I will not tell you.”

Valjean sighed. “This is a private ward and all the other patients here have rich family or friends. Forgive me for mentioning it, but you are not a man of such means, so surely you have been put here by someone who does have the means. I assume by your response to my question that you know who did, so, who? An enemy?”

“He is not an enemy.”

“Then let me approach him and ask him to sign your release papers.”

“Never Valjean. Now change the subject before I start screaming and they put me to sleep again and then you shall have answers to nothing.”

“But, if you would just--”

Valjean should have counted on Javert being a man of his word. He did not think the man could shout so loud, and yet the sound was painfully deafening. Within moments two men had rushed into the room and before Valjean could protest they had pressed a cloth to Javert’s nose and mouth. Valjean caught Javert’s smile just before he went under and he smashed his fist on the table in frustration.

“Monsieur? Are you alright?”

Valjean shook his head, then noticing the look on the orderly’s face quickly nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Completely fine.”

* * *

 

The darkness had become comforting now. During the night Javert was left to his own thoughts, even with the oppressive heat closing in on him. He did not have to endure the doctor’s invasive treatments or his inane wittering, and most of all he did not have to bare Valjean’s pitying stares. Worse even was when Valjean tried to talk to him.

Javert had found a cure for that fast enough. He need only shout, he could play the mad wolf quite well now, and then he woke up in the dark with only a minor headache and in perfect peace.

Valjean sometimes hovered in the background as the doctor administered treatments which only made them more humiliating. Perhaps Valjean was misinterpreting Javert’s violent scowl for an invitation of friendship.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, but then he felt the bed depress beside him and his heart sank. If he kept his eyes closed then perhaps Valjean would not touch him, perhaps the demon would go away and leave him unharmed. His prayers went unanswered. He felt a hand on his thigh, fingers digging deep into skin, and then fingers were skimming his waistband and reaching for his cock, and damn him to hell he was hard in an instant.

It felt so real, so vivid, the sensations were tangible he was sure. So when he opened his eyes, spent of an orgasm and breathing heavily, he was disturbed yet again to find the room empty. He was alone with shame collected in his trousers and his brow covered in sweat.

* * *

 

“It is a delicate issue Monsieur Fauchelevant.”

“I have seen much so far, I am sure my sensibilities can take it. You said there was a cure?”

“A potential cure, we have yet to try it, but I cannot under any circumstances let you carry it out.”

Valjean ran his hand through his hair and took in a breath. They were striding side by side in the lower levels of the hospital. Two maids were running back and forth with buckets of hot water, steam rising from the top.

“I can manage a bath Doctor.”

“Of course, of course, but it is what I intend to try afterward.”

Valjean met his gaze. “I’m sure I can manage that too.”

Massé sighed and stopped outside a thickset wooden door. “I cannot allow it.”

Valjean had not given up yet, but he kept his peace for now. Massé opened the door and they both beheld the free standing tub within, filled to the brim with steaming hot water. Towels and washing implements were placed around the room alongside soaps and oils.

Surprisingly enough for Valjean, Javert was not struggling when he was brought to the room. He was flanked by three other men, one with a bottle and cloth tucked into his waistband, but they did not hold him but rather let him walk on his own. His hands were bound in front of him and he was only clothed from the waist down. He spared Valjean a quick glance, but looked away with disinterest. The orderlies let him remove his remaining garments himself and then helped him into the tub. Javert leaned back and allowed his ankles to be tied then he turned to Valjean.

“I assume he is to do it.”

Valjean looked between Javert and Massé “If it is permitted.”

“Then let this be over with,” Javert said, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the water.

“It is good to see you calm Monsieur Javert,” Massé said, his voice encouraging. “You can manage Monsieur Fauchelevant?”

Javert snorted at the sound of the name, but Valjean ignored him. “We’ll be fine. I’ll call if anything happens.”

Massé bowed his head and then directed for the room to be cleared. Valjean waited for the door to close before taking up a cloth and a bar of soap. He dipped the cloth in the water and rubbed some soap into it before wringing it out over Javert’s shoulders.

“How are you feeling?”

Javert kept his eyes shut. “If you don’t talk at all I might be able to imagine I am taking the waters in a spa town.”

“I cannot promise to do that.”

“Then I shall have to imagine I am being washed in a hospital basement by my sworn enemy instead.”

Valjean did not retort, instead he began rubbing the cloth in soothing motions across Javert’s back and shoulders. He noticed the crease in Javert’s brow unfold and assumed his actions were calming the man somewhat. Nevertheless he was fully aware of how his presence must be affecting Javert and he had even considered leaving him be in this place. However, his conscience had won out, and he was yet determined to see Javert freed.

“You look a little healthier,” Valjean said as he passed the cloth down Javert’s arms. He stopped short of the ropes around his wrists. Javert hummed something in response, his eyes still closed. “You must be feeling better?”

“Not at all Valjean. Yet I have discovered it is prudent to cooperate.”

Valjean nodded and wrung the water from the cloth before running it down Javert’s chest. Javert tensed beneath him and Valjean saw the struggle in his face and tight muscles as he fought to relax beneath Valjean’s touch. It could not have been easy. Valjean turned his attention to Javert’s legs, pointedly ignoring anything in between and avoiding the knotted ropes that kept his ankles pinned.

When he was finished Valjean carefully wrung the cloth and hung it on a nearby stand, with his hands clasped in nervousness he turned back to Javert. “I trust we are finished?” Javert asked, voice still feigning boredom, yet Valjean could sense the tremor beneath it.

“Not quite.”

“Excuse me?”

“Forgive me Javert.”

Javert’s eyes shot open and Valjean recognised that fear. It was the same expression Javert had given him as he held a razor to his throat, and even before then on the barricades, it was the look of a man expecting to die.

Valjean still wrung his hands and looked apologetic, but he stepped closer to the tub and knelt down beside it. Releasing one of his tense hands he hovered his palm tentatively above the water, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“What are you doing?”

“The doctor thinks this might help.”

“Valjean, what are you doing?” Javert’s voice was harder this time, more urgent. He had skirted backwards in the tub in an attempt to get away from that hand, but there was little room enough as it was.

“Please let me help you,” Valjean said quietly, dipping his fingers beneath the water and sending slight ripples to the metal edges of the tub. He reached down until he found Javert’s thigh and brushed his fingertips against it. Javert’s reaction was immediate and Valjean found himself suddenly covered in water as it sloshed over the rim.

“Shhhh,” Valjean murmured softly, his palm pressed firmly into Javert’s thigh. “Remain calm.”

“I am not a horse you are trying to tame,” Javert growled. The scowl on his face was fierce and Valjean glanced up nervously. “Get your hand off me.”

Valjean withdrew his hand from the water, watching as water slid down his fingers and dropped back into the tub. He looked at Javert, his eyes moving between his bound hands and bound feet, and then to the anguished expression on his face.

“I’m sorry Javert,” He said, returning his hand to the water. “I have to.”

Javert twisted violently as Valjean managed to close his hand around him, but there was little leverage to be had in the cramped space. “Valjean, don’t.”

Valjean shrugged helplessly and tightened his fingers ever so slightly. He was sure that this was the right thing to do, certain that this release might provide Javert with an outlet he did not have when alone in his darkened room. The water made it easier to slip his fingers up and down Javert’s length, stroking with appropriate gentleness. Valjean noticed the moment that Javert stopped writhing in protest and lay completely still in unnatural resignation. His teeth were clenched, his lips sealed in a thin line, and his eyes stared coldy at the wall opposite.

“I’m sorry,” Valjean repeated, wishing he had better words to use. “It really is for your own good.”

Javert’s visage broke for just a moment as he winced, not so much in response to the physical sensation, but something else. The instant was gone within seconds however, and Javert’s features returned to their stony stoicism.

Valjean was patient and steady and it wasn’t long before he noticed a tremble in Javert’s bottom lip and a furrowing of his brow. “That’s it,” Valjean said gently. “Focus, this will be over soon.”

Javert seemed to fall into those words and Valjean felt him shudder beneath him. It wasn’t satisfying for either of them, and while Valjean went to wash his hands with the discarded cloth Javert refused to look at him. Valjean opened his mouth to speak, to offer some words of comfort, but he found none. Instead he waited, neither of them saying a word, until the orderlies came to take Javert away. Valjean watched in silence, noting how Javert’s body seemed limp, his head hanging slightly lower.

* * *

 The heat burned more than usual, the delicate breeze had the effect of hot fumes from the oven and Javert broke out in a furious sweat across his body. His skin felt sensitive and vulnerable. He was clothed once more, but he could still feel Valjean's hands over his naked body, the fist that had closed around his cock, and damn him he had been hard for that hand within moments. He had protested and felt weakness, but his body had reacted, and even now Javert's mind agreed. He had seemed resigned in his body and Valjean must have assumed it was an aversion to the situation, but in Javert's reality he was disgusted with himself. He felt repulsed that he had responded to Valjean's touch, and not only that but he had whined a little and craved it. He had fought it because he could not understand why he wanted it, not because he did not want it at all. 

And even now as he lay in the darkness he was hoping that the demon would come for him. Valjean with his dark face and black eyes would sit on his bed and touch him, force him to come for that mighty hand, and leave him without a mundane word. Javert breathed slowly, the thick air resting like a pillow over his mouth and nose. He wanted to toss and turn, but his body was held fast by restraints. The strap over his chest pushed down on his lungs, made it hard to breathe at all. Javert closed his eyes, stared at the darkness behind his eyelids and tried to think of anything but Valjean, or Valjean's hand - God that hand! - but it was a futile effort. 

By the time Javert felt the hand of Valjean - that was not really his hand at all - creep up his thigh he was whimpering in need, hard and yearning for that touch he was sure he would have taken it from anyone. Valjean palmed his crotch over his trousers and squeezed, a touch that was far from gentle, and then Javert felt his trousers being pulled down. He arched his back, raising his hips, allowing the motion to happen and then Valjean's bare skin touched his. It felt electric, Javert's mind whirred as Valjean;'s palm groped him roughly. His teeth were gritted as he let out a whine and Valjean pulled his hand away.

"No, please," Javert whispered into the darkness, begging for that creature's hand to touch him again. He opened his eyes to find Valjean, but the room was empty, his trousers were firmly round his waist, yet his cock was hard and wanting. Javert clenched his thighs to alleviate the pressure, but it was painful, and his mind had not allowed him long enough to even think of coming. He bore the night in uncomfortable desire, almost grateful when an orderly came to him in the morning, wincing with disgust, but still putting him out of his misery. If he closed his eyes and thought very hard he could almost imagine that small and smooth clinical hand was Valjean's rough and purposeful one. Almost. 

* * *

 

Valjean had been waiting for almost an hour. The chair beneath him was comfortable enough with its red velvet cushion and gilt back, and there was plenty to keep his mind occupied with as he watched officers and secretaries pace back and forth along the entrance hallway of the Prefecture.

He had come without an appointment, in truth not knowing that he should make one, and the man - barely that, more a boy - behind the desk had informed him that he was welcome to wait although it could be some time.

Massé had prescribed three further sessions in the bathtub for Javert, and Valjean had begrudgingly helped with all of them, mainly because he wanted to spare Javert the ignominity of being touched in such a way by someone he did not know. He wasn’t sure if such an action was truly helping.

Javert spoke few words and the scenes were tense with Valjean noticing little to no difference in Javert’s demeanor before and after. After the final session Javert’s features seemed to have fallen so far that Valjean did not impede himself as he leaned forward to grasp Javert’s face in his hands. Javert barely reacted, his eyes red, his teeth clenched in the effort it took him not to weep. Valjean had apologised endlessly, the words falling upon Javert’s expression like pointed daggers as he held his palms to his cheeks. He pressed their foreheads together, felt Javert trembling beneath him, saw his lips moving in a silent plea, and then had enfolded him into a complete embrace. He had held Javert like that for several moments and Javert had not protested. After what felt like hours Javert seemed to crack beneath him, breaking into shards of glass, and Valjean held him tight as he sobbed openly. Valjean waited until Javert had stopped shaking and his tears were dry, and then had held him longer. Finally, Javert’s own hands had come up to rest against Valjean’s back, still bound in place by rope, awkwardly positioned, but it was a start and Valjean was grateful for that.

Javert refused to tell him who had put him in such a place, and so in the end Valjean had found out himself. It was easy enough to feign his way into the records room and find Javert’s file. The signature had been elaborate with looping elegance and a firm commanding line had portrayed the accent, and with luck the form had also contained a space to write an occupation.

And so Valjean had come to wait outside the office of the Secretaire to the Prefect, First Bureau, and wait patiently for an appointment. Valjean had felt nervous at first, as was natural, for he felt like the Christian walking into the arena of lions. There was still a warrant over his head, and any wanted man must be a fool to go to a place surrounded by police offices, but then Valjean had thought of Javert and knew it was what he must do.

The light outside the wall length windows was fading into a beautiful dusk of burnt orange and wisps of purple. It reflected off the many mirrors in the hall and their gold edging, but also told him that the day was coming to a close. Valjean’s eyes fell on the hardwood door which was engraved with the name _André Joseph Chabouillet._ He had not planned what to say, he had gone through many versions of such a conversation in his mind, but nothing had struck him as appropriate.

The clock struck seven, its pendulum swaying in rhythm as the work day came to a close. Officers were shouldering their coats and replacing their weapons for the night whilst secretaries cleared their desks and hurried to stamp the final reports. Valjean frowned and rose, pulling down on the front of his waistcoat to smooth it out as he made his way to the desk where he had announced his arrival.

“Good evening,” He said, voice level. “Did you inform Monsieur le Secretaire of my wish to see him?”

The secretary in question was twirling his index finger around a blonde curl and had his tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth in concentration. He looked up, his eyes bright, but his mouth betrayed nothing in its carefully set line.

“I did Monsieur.”

“You informed him of the urgency?”

“Yes Monsieur, although between you and me, most people come to see Monsieur le Secretaire on urgent business, so really if you wished to be seen earlier you should have mentioned that it was _very_ urgent.”

Valjean breathed out slowly through his nose and gave the boy a cursory glance. It was difficult to tell if this attitude was insolence or the signs of a simple man.

“What is your name?” Valjean asked, still retaining his composure.

“Monsieur Nay. I don’t usually perform secretarial duties for Monsieur Chabouillet, but he is in need of extra hands at the moment.” Monsieur Nay shrugged and gave a wistful glance down the corridor that led to the Prefect’s office. “I go where I’m ordered to go, you see, but I hope it will not be too long. My desk outside Monsieur Gisquet’s office is much more suited to my needs.”

Valjean was beginning to wonder if the boy had an off-switch. He wrung his hands and gave Monsieur Nay a gently encouraging smile. “Perhaps I can help in that regard. If it is not too much trouble, would you please return to Monsieur le Secretaire and inform him that the _very_ urgent business I wish to see him about concerns a former Inspector Javert.”

Monsieur Nay’s eyebrows shot to his hairline of blonde curls. He slipped out of his chair within moments and was darting off to Chabouillet’s door without a second word. Valjean watched as he knocked and then entered. He was gone barely a few seconds before he emerged again and beckoned Valjean forward. “Monsieur Chabouillet will see you now.”

Valjean took a final breath to compose himself and then stepped through the open door. Monsieur Nay bowed and introduced him as Monsieur Fauchelevent before closing the door carefully behind him.

Chabouillet was hurriedly putting on his coat to cover the impropriety of his shirtsleeves and was now returning a decanter along with a glass to a nearby glass cabinet. There were no official looking papers or documents on Chabouillet’s desk, but rather a well-bound hardback book with an elegant script up the spine. Valjean couldn’t make out the title in the dim light of the fire. Chabouillet returned his spectacles to his pocket and then smiled at Valjean, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Monsieur Fauchelevent, a pleasure.”

Valjean took the proffered hand, shaking the tight grip with unease. “Please take a seat,” Chabouillet said, sitting behind his own desk. He picked up the volume before him, sliding the ribbon bookmark into position before depositing it inside his desk drawer. Chabouillet noted Valjean’s eyes upon him and gestured to the place where the book had disappeared.

“My wife is keen for me to do more reading, she thinks it will make me more worldly,” He said, still with that cold smile. “She is a bookseller by trade so she comes by some interesting titles. Do you read much Monsieur Fauchelevent?”

“Not for pleasure,” Valjean replied. Was this the vital work the Secretaire did whilst his former protégé rotted in a hospital just a few streets away? Valjean felt his fists clench in his lap and he took some slow breaths to remain calm.

“Nor I,” Chabouillet confessed. “Yet I have always admired a man who soldiers through a book in an attempt to better himself. Now, to business, you mentioned the name Javert to my secretary outside, please do not tell me you have come burdened with bad news.”

Valjean searched the frowning face, there was concern there certainly, but perhaps not quite compassion. “I have come from the hospital, I work there, well, of sorts, I am a volunteer.”

Chabouillet had reached into his pocket to replace his spectacles on his nose to better scrutinise Valjean’s face and had steepled his fingers before him. He didn’t speak, but waited for Valjean to continue.

“I have come to you because I do not believe he should be there, and I require your signature once more to get him out.”

“Have you come on orders from Doctor Massé?”

“No, Monsieur, and you must forgive me for this forwardness, but Javert is suffering and I need your help.”

Chabouillet frowned and tapped the tip of a long finger against his lips. “Suffering? Do elaborate Monsieur Fauchelevent.”

“Doctor Massé’s methods are somewhat intimate, I do not wish to shock you, but I think that for him to be touched in such a way is detrimental to his recovery.”

To Valjean’s surprise Chabouillet smiled and shook his head. “Do you think you have shocked me? You appear to be a noble man, but you admit you are a volunteer with no medical training, why should I trust you over the good doctor?”

“I-..” Valjean bit his tongue to stop himself short of saying _I know him._ “I have seen the effects first-hand, and truly, I do not even believe the Inspector is unwell to begin with.”

Chabouillet rose and moved to a slim wooden cabinet. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, reaching in to remove a pile of crisp papers before striding back to the desk.

“Fauchelevent…” He murmured to himself, rifling through the papers. “I have heard your name before.”

Valjean froze, ready to bolt. Were these criminal reports? Letters from Javert to his patron describing daily life in Montrueil sur Mer? Chabouillet found a piece of paper amidst the pile and passed it to Valjean.

“You are the same Fauchelevent described in this report I take it. I must say it does go into some rather more intimate details than your brief account.”

Valjean’s eyes skimmed the document quickly, taking in his assumed name and Javert’s, then various details of the treatments, a clinical report of the ways in which Valjean touched Javert, the way he held him afterwards, all in the name of science. Valjean swallowed.

“Medical reports can of course lack emotion, but I see no signs of restraint from you in these, and believe me I have read them all with exquisite closeness.” Chabouillet handed another report to Valjean and Valjean read it in silence taking in the clinical nature with which his physical relationship with Javert was described.

“You thought to shock me, but I already know the exact details of what is being done to my Inspector. What makes you think I did not even order it myself? I trust in Doctor Massé, I have seen him work wonders with other men I have known, men who have experienced trauma from various sources and through his methods have regained peace, some of them are even close friends.”

Chabouillet’s eyes flicked to the door that led back into the bowels of the Prefecture for a split-second, a movement that would not have been visible if Valjean had not been watching him closely, his own eyes wide.

“Is there anything else Monsieur Fauchelevent? Or may I expect to receive my weekly reports as usual with no further heroics?”

Valjean stood, his chair scraping on the floor behind him as he pushed it back. He did not know what he had expected from this meeting, but it had not been this. Chabouillet would not aid him, and his mind was spinning with possible solutions. He shook his head.

“That will be all. Thank you for your time Monsieur.” He opened the door himself, tripping over the secretary standing behind it who had no doubt been listening with his ear pressed to the wood. He hastened to the grand double doors, noting the hour and rapidly forming a plan in his mind. He heard footsteps on the tiles behind him, but he paid them no heed, not until a small hand pressed his arm.

“Monsieur Fauchelevent,” Monsieur Nay said breathlessly. “Forgive me, I just-...well, it came to my attention as I was...I suppose....”

“What is it?” Valjean asked, impatient. “I must make it to the hospital before the streets are completely dark.”

“Yes, the hospital, of course, it is nothing, it is not my place to say, forgive me, I just hoped you might answer-”

“Spit it out man.”

“Is he well? Monsieur Javert? We are concerned about him, well, not all of us, a few of us, mainly myself and...well, that doesn’t matter now, he doesn’t like me to talk about it…”

Valjean was pressing white crescent moons into his palms. Did the man not understand urgency? No, he didn’t, Valjean had already learned that today.

“Monsieur Chabouillet won’t tell us anything and it has been weeks since we saw him. You see him frequently, is that right? Is he well? A small word of reassurance will make all the difference.”

Valjean sighed. “He is not well, no. But I will ensure that he is safe, and I would like to make good on that promise tonight.”

Monsieur Nay’s eyes went wide. “Of course Monsieur, good luck.”

Valjean nodded and detached his arm from Monsieur Nay’s grip before descending the stairs and hailing a cab.

* * *

 

It was the most authoritative Valjean had felt since his days as mayor in a small Northwest town. Doctor Massé had retired to his apartments a few streets away much earlier that evening and so Valjean informed the orderlies that he had given instructions to him before he left. He had directed them to follow procedure as they prepared Javert for a bath in the basement. Valjean had paid his fiacre driver handsomely and promised him much of the same if he stayed in wait down a back street beside the hospital.

Valjean waited in the small room, his fingers twitched and he shivered at every noise or slight movement. Finally he heard three sets of footsteps, two booted and one barefoot. He tried not to smile in relief as Javert was passed over to him. Javert frowned and eyed him suspiciously while Valjean attempted to alleviate his concerns with his own expression. As soon as they were left alone Valjean grasped Javert’s shoulders.

“Do you trust me?”

“Valjean…”

“There isn’t much time, I’m helping you free of this place if you will let me.”

“I do not understand.”

Valjean sighed with gritted teeth and moved to Javert’s feet. He pulled on the rope and rested them against the side of the tub so he could work at the knot. Javert let him with a confused expression.

“What are you doing?”

“Setting you free.”

“You mean for us to walk out of here? Valjean that is a foolish plan and I have no intention of following you. I fully intend to wait until my finite time here is over.”

Valjean shook his head in frustration. “Don’t you understand? That could be months, years even!” He threw up his hands and returned to the knot, prying at the coarse rope with difficulty. “I spoke to him myself, your Monsieur Chabouillet, he has no intention of signing release papers.”

“As he shouldn’t if the doctors have advised against it.”

Valjean finally gained traction with the knot and slipped the rope free. He turned to Javert’s wrists and began working there.

“They don’t know what they’re doing. I would not go so far as to say they are insane, but they are experimenting with you and nothing more.”

Javert opened his mouth to retort, but then he gazed into Valjean’s eyes and saw the fear there, saw Valjean’s own truth. He snapped his mouth shut again.

Valjean was tugging at the rope, but it wouldn’t budge.

“They use a knife,” Javert said quietly. “They deliberately tie it so that it cannot be undone without one.”

“Well then.” Valjean hissed out a sigh, then glanced to his side as he heard noise in the corridor. “Come on we have to leave.”

He knelt beside the tub and slipped his hand behind Javert’s back, pulling him upright and then lifting him out the bath as if he weighed little more than a feather.

“Put your wrists behind my neck so that you can hang on.”

Javert hesitated, but eventually slipped his bound hands over Valjean’s head and pressed himself in close to his chest.

“I do not trust you Valjean.”

Valjean groaned in frustration and his hands tightened, but Javert merely eyed him closely. “But I will let you help me this once.”

Valjean closed his eyes in relief them turned to the door. He opened it with his foot, kicking it back on its hinges, then took off down the corridor with Javert held tight in his arms. He’d readied the back door, leaving it unlocked so that he might slip out and meet the fiacre in the street. Valjean prayed that all would go smoothly. The cold air hit him harshly, but Javert felt it most, his skin dripping wet and his skin bare. Valjean held him tighter.

They reached the fiacre in moments and Valjean lifted Javert into the back seat unhooking his arms from his neck before climbing in after him. He gave the address to the driver and finally allowed himself a sigh of relief.

There was a blanket on the back seat, resting folded beside them and Valjean shook it out before laying it over Javert.

“I don’t suppose you have a knife in here?” Javert asked.

“No, I’m sorry. I will have one at home.”

“You would take me into your home?”

“I lived there for years and you didn’t find me, you will be safe there.”

Javert bit his lip and lowered his eyes. He was still shivering and the movement did not go unnoticed. Valjean swallowed and summoned up some courage before sliding closer to Javert and wrapping his arms around him. He pulled the man onto his lap, trying not to look at the rope still securing his wrists in a tight hold.

Javert turned his face up to him. “Why would you help me? I do not understand you.”

“I’m not sure myself.”

He looked down at Javert’s furrowed brow and plaintive look, his lips parted. He thought of touching him intimately, his hand swirling in warm water as he took Javert in his fist so many times. He remembered holding him, how Javert himself had tried to hold back.

His eyes slid back to Javert’s lips, slack and still littered with droplets of water. He leaned forward, paused, then bridged the gap completely. Javert made a startled noise and pulled away quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Valjean said hurriedly. “I did not mean--”

Javert pressed their lips together again, pushing forward with his tongue, startling Valjean in turn before pulling back and taking in a breath.

“You fool, I was merely unprepared.”

Valjean smiled, but Javert did not. His eyes were still intense and burning, his brow still pressed in that line of confusion. Valjean had an urge to kiss that brow. He had an urge to kiss many places, but there would be time enough for that.

For now he would keep Javert safe. The brief thought occurred to him that he would not be able to let Javert leave while men were still pursuing him, and now he would become a kept man in Valjean’s house rather than a hospital. Valjean was not sure how he felt about his house becoming a prison, he himself a guard and Javert his prisoner, and his eyes rested once more on the ropes binding Javert’s wrists. He would come to that in time, he thought. For now, he would keep Javert safe.


End file.
